


To the Cloud and the Cold (and Those Jeans You Have on)

by Butterbeerandbutterknives



Series: Wasteland, Baby! [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anorexia, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Men of Letters Bunker, Dom/sub Undertones, Eating Disorders, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterbeerandbutterknives/pseuds/Butterbeerandbutterknives
Summary: After, when they were breathless and sticky, clinging to each other atop the sheets, Cas slowly traced his fingers over the ridges and valleys of Dean’s spine.  “How much?” He asked.Dean knew the angel was asking about his recent weight loss.  “Don’t know.” He replied with a shrug. “Don’t care.” It’s not a lie, either. The scale sits untouched in the back of his closet; weight doesn’t matter, what grounds him is the gnawing feeling in his gut, the fuzziness in his head, the feeling like there’s still something in his life within his control. Something that God himself can’t take from him.Or, in which Dean's eating disorder resurfaces post 15x03 and Castiel tries to help.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Series: Wasteland, Baby! [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2155410
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	To the Cloud and the Cold (and Those Jeans You Have on)

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning: This fic deals with eating disorders, and includes frank discussions of calories and weight.

After exiting purgatory for a second time, Dean felt the dynamic between him and Cas shift. They’re back on speaking terms, and Dean was frantic to get clean and get to the inevitable make-up sex. With the leviathan blossom gathered and Cas and him safely in the bunker, Dean excused himself for a shower. After he was done, he didn’t bother to dress, merely slapping his robe and slippers before plodding to the kitchen for a mug of black coffee. Sam was at the kitchen table, laptop open and drinking something thick and green, which Dean scrunched his nose at.

“Dude.” Sam replied to his unvoiced disgust. “It’s kale. Vitamin K? Iron? _Substance?’’_

Dean snorted. “I’ll stick to coffee, thanks.”

“Cas is in the library.” Sam replied. “Sound like you two worked it out, huh?”

Dean nodded, taking a long sip of his coffee. “Yeah. I think we’ll be okay.”

“Good.” Sam looked at Dean’s thinning body, no longer concealed beneath layers upon layers of flannel. “You want something to eat?”

Dean’s stomach clenched at the thought. “Nah.” He dismissed. “Maybe later.”

“Dean-“ Sam began, but Dean wasn’t having it.

“Well, would you look at the time!” He chirped and made his way to the library. Truth be told, he’d lost a substantial amount of weight since his and Cas’s falling out. Hell, he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something solid, subsisting mostly on a disgusting salt/sugar mixture he put in his water and some coffee. It kept him able to hunt, but Dean knew he had to be bordering on underweight once again. His hands shook all the time now, fingertips blanched with hypotension, and he found himself wearing pairs of jeans he hadn’t dug out since the last time his eating disorder was truly bad. He wasn’t truly in the danger zone yet, but the gauntness he’d acquired went far beyond what was normal, even for him.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas greeted.

Dean smiled and walked up to the angel. “So, you planning on sticking around a while?”

Cas looked up at him. “It’d seem silly not to.”

Dean smirked and walked up behind Castiel, hugging him and resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder. “Wanna fuck?”

Castiel licked his lips. “How forward of you.”

“Forward in a bad way?”

Cas spun around and let a small smile anoint his face. “Not in the slightest. Shall we retire to your bedroom?”

Dean took Cas in hand, and the door had scarcely slammed behind them when he began to tear off the angel’s superfluous layers. Starting with the trench coat, he ripped off the suit jacket and Castiel’s tie before beginning to unbutton his shirt. “You wear too many layers.” He groaned, already half hard and pausing to rub himself against Cas, desperate for friction.

Castiel chuckled. “I could say the same thing about you.” He teased, quickly untying Dean’s robe while capturing the hunter’s lips in a kiss. In one fluid movement, he had the offending garment thrown clear across the room. As he pulled back to rake his eyes over Dean’s body, his hands stilled. “Oh, _Dean_.” He murmured.

“Don’t back out now, Cas.” Dean begged, fingers stripping the shirt from Cas’s torso. “I’ve missed you too much.”

Castiel rejoined the kiss, but it was softer now. He removed his belt and let Dean help him out of his trousers and boxers before pushing the hunter back onto the bed. “So beautiful.” Castiel admired, opening the bedside drawer and grabbing lube. He slicked a finger and pressed it into Dean carefully, watching as the man keened in response.

“Fuck, Cas.” He gasped.

“So tight.” The angel groaned. “You’re going to feel so good around my cock, baby.” He began to methodically pump his index finger in and out of Dean’s hole, watching the man as pleasure danced across his face.

“More.” Dean begged after a minute. “I need more, Cas.” His arms were behind him, pushing himself into a half-reclined pose with his head thrown back in ecstasy, and Cas paused to kiss the tender flesh of his adam’s apple while adding another slick finger. Dean’s legs were spread, and the arch of his back only highlighted the newfound concavity of his empty stomach.

“I love you so much.” Castiel murmured. “You complete me, Dean Winchester.”

“I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Dean purred. “My bed felt so cold without you.”

Castiel bit back the urge to tell Dean he wouldn’t be so cold if he just ate. There were more important things at hand, literally. “I’ve missed you, as well.” He replied. “Are you ready for more?” He scissored his fingers tentatively, trying to decide if he could fit a third digit in.

Dean shook his head. “I want it to burn.” Castiel must have looked ready to protest, because Dean cut him off, saying, “I _need_ it to burn.”

Castiel nodded and let himself be flipped over, Dean carefully beginning to lower himself onto Cas’s cock. The angel gripped Dean’s upper arms fervently, helping the hunter ease down tantalizingly slow. “Careful.” He warned. “If you can’t walk tomorrow Sam will be insufferable.” 

Dean chuckled, and his voice was low with arousal. “Ain’t that the truth.” After a few gasping breaths, he’d sunk down completely, moaning with pleasure as he bottomed out.

Castiel inhaled sharply as Dean shifted, an act of sheer indulgence rather than any necessity. “You are so beautiful.” He sighed. “I will never tire of seeing your soul dance with joy.” His hands drifted down Dean’s arms to settle on the hunter’s hips, squeezing gently, worried too firm a grasp would hurt the sharp points of Dean’s pelvis. Cas pushed himself up against the headboard, allowing for them both to be upright, and kissed Dean softly, unable to resist the urge to buck his hips upwards in glee.

Dean rode him slow and steady, the urgency long gone, and in the minutes that follow, the only thing on Cas’s mind was how lovely it can be to fall apart.

After, when they were breathless and sticky, clinging to each other atop the sheets, Cas slowly traced his fingers over the ridges and valleys of Dean’s spine. “How much?” He asked.

Dean knew the angel was asking about his recent weight loss. “Don’t know.” He replied with a shrug. “Don’t care.” It’s not a lie, either. The scale sits untouched in the back of his closet; weight doesn’t matter, what grounds him is the gnawing feeling in his gut, the fuzziness in his head, the feeling like there’s still something in his life within his control. Something that God himself can’t take from him.

Cas pressed a soft kiss to Dean’s forehead. “How many calories a day have you been eating, then? I know you were just above 160 when…” He trails off. _When I left_ hangs in the air, a six-week-old ghost that still haunts them both.

“Eating?” Dean replied. “None. Drinking, maybe a couple hundred? Replaced the beer with whiskey, some homemade Gatorade when I got dizzy, couple of creams in my coffee before a hunt.”

Castiel’s hand stilled. “Have you had solid food at all this month?”

Dean licked his lips. “Of course.” He defended.

“Other than canned soup?” Castiel clarified. He’d seen the hunter’s pantry when Dean relapses, going from pasta and oatmeal to a landscape punctuated by so many cans labeled _Campbells_ it might as well have been a painting by Warhol.

Dean pondered this for a moment. “Sammy made me eat a banana a while ago.” He admitted. “You know how he gets about potassium. I’ve had a few yogurts, as well. Some crackers, too.”

Cas sighed, his hand coming up to gently brush the nape of Dean’s neck. “I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”

Dean snorted. “Cas, I think everybody, yourself included, sees me for what I am: broken.”

Castiel shook his head. “You are not porcelain, Dean, not something that shatters. You are the coal deep beneath the earth, turning to diamond. You are the seed which fractures to birth a plant. You are, and always have been, the most beautiful thing I’ve laid eyes on. I know you can’t belive that right now, but please, know that it is my truth.”

Dean gazed into his eyes before breaking the tension. “You’re such a sap.”

Cas smiled. “I’ll go grab a washcloth.” He stood, slowly making his way to the sink in the corner of Dean’s room, grabbing a washcloth from the basket beneath it. Wetting it, he returned and cleaned them both up before tossing it back in the sink. “Any chance of me getting substance into you?”

“Let’s not ruin the moment.” Dean grimaced. “I’m enjoying the view, thank you very much.”

Castiel brought the cup from Dean’s desk to the sink to fill it. “Drink some water, then. It’s been a long day. Does your head hurt from being knocked out earlier?”

“It smarts a little, but nothing some sleep won’t fix.” Dean reassured, taking the glass of water to sip at.

Castiel crawled back onto his side of the bed, two fingers held out. “May I?”

Dean nodded, letting Cas’s grace infiltrate him, a warm, staticky sensation so familiar it felt downright homey. He hummed in contentment as the pounding in his head retreated and warmth seeped down into his toes. “I forgot your secondary feature of being a space heater.” He teased.

“You had a concussion.” Castiel scolded. “Next time I ask if you’re hurt, answer truthfully. I don’t want you to suffer needlessly.”

Dean laughed at this. “Unfortunately for you, that seems to be my main goal in life.”

Castiel didn’t laugh, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You should rest.” He encouraged. “Let me grab a book, you brush your teeth.”

Standing, Dean arched an eyebrow as Cas made his way to the door, still unclad. “As much as I like your ass.” He stated. “I think you might give Sam an unwanted eyeful if you waltz into the library in your birthday suit.”

Castiel frowned at his exposed dick. “I wasn’t in a vessel on my birthday.” But he put on Dean’s robe, nonetheless.

Returning with a battered 1868 edition of _Dictionnaire Infernal,_ Cas shucked off the robe (he never was one for modesty; the human form was a marvel of his father’s engineering, why cover it in a cotton polyester blend?) and settled beneath the covers next to a now minty-breathed Dean. “Do you want me to leave the light on?” The hunter asked. Cas didn’t require light to read due to the angelic perk of excellent night vision, but sometimes he’d turn the lamp on low for atmosphere.

“No.” Cas opened the book. “I wish for you to rest as well as possible. I belive there’s a joke to be made about packing for Europe with the size of the bags beneath your eyes.”

Dean snorted. “I’m flattered. Mind handing me one of your pillows, then?” Castiel did as requested, and Dean placed it betwixt his bony knees. “G’ Night.” He murmured.

“Sleep well, my beloved.”

* * *

Dean awoke to a cold bed and even colder hands. He wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders, sitting up slowly in an unsuccessful effort to avoid a headrush. He glanced about the room, looking for proof he hadn’t merely dreamed yesterday’s activities, and relaxed when he saw _Dictionnaire Infernal_ residing on Cas’s half of the bed. Stepping out from the meager warmth beneath the covers, he slid on his robe quickly, not wanting to lose any heat. Maybe he’d throw an extra blanket on his bed tonight. He’d been viewing the chill as an easy way to burn calories, but it couldn’t have been fun for Cas to cuddle an icicle.

“Mornin’.” He greeted, stepping into the kitchen, only to be greeted by his little brother looking like he’d been strung through a washboard. The sadness in the air was palpable, and Dean shot a panicked look to Cas, striding over to Sam to lay a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Eileen left.” Sam replied, staring into his cup of coffee as if he wanted to crawl inside it. “Said she didn’t know what was real anymore.”

“Oh, Sammy.” Dean soothed, squeezing his shoulder firmly. “I’m so sorry.” 

Sam gave a weak smile. “Can’t say I blame her. Getting kidnapped by God is enough to fuck with anyone’s mind.”

Dean nodded, going to the coffee maker and pouring himself a mug. His stomach grumbled in anticipation, and Cas frowned. “Do you want any creamer?”

“No.”

Sam sighed. “Dean-“

“Just shut the fuck up.” Dean snapped. “Both of you. I’m not some problem you can just fix whenever.”

“We know that.” Cas soothed. “ _I_ know that. I know you’re not going to magically start eating hamburgers three times a day just because I’m here. We need to work together- all three of us- to figure out how we can get you some substance throughout the day, though. There’s a lot going on, and I doubt you want to be incapacitated by starvation when we figure out a way to kill my father.”

Dean felt sick, a nausea twisting in his guts, not a protest from his abused body but rather a response to the sheer guilt of it all. Sam had just been wrecked, thrown out to see without Eileen around to serve as lifeguard, Cas has been dealing with knowing he must kill his own father, they still are all mourning Jack and-

Dean barely made it to the kitchen sink in time to throw up a mouthful of bile.

Castiel’s hand was warm on the back of his neck, and his knees quaked as he gripped the metal basin, dry heaving and agony filling the space where his thoughts should be. “Sorry.” He grunted, not quite sure what exactly he was apologizing for. 

Castiel’s brows were furrowed. “Come sit.” He soothed. “Drink some coffee. Would you be willing to have some broth?”

Dean was suddenly back at the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around his forgotten mug of coffee. “Just broth?” He questioned.

“I want for you to have some salt.” He explained.

Dean nodded, sipping his coffee as Cas bustled at the stovetop, taking the chicken bouillon concentrate from the fridge and diluting it thoughtfully. “I’m going to go take a shower.” Sam blurted out, as if his hair wasn’t still wet from the one he took an hour ago.

Cas’s eyes were soft. “Enjoy, Sam. I’ll watch over your brother. Focus on yourself for a bit.”

Sam nodded, his bare feet hardly making any noise as he padded out of the room. “Fuck, he can’t even stand to look at me.” Dean muttered, sipping his coffee idly, trying to block out the continuous screaming of his brain of _two calories, two calories, two calories_.

Cas stirred the broth, waiting for it to heat through. “He’s struggling Dean, but it is not your fault. He can care for himself; you just need to let him have space.”

Silence overtook the kitchen until Cas went to pour the chicken stock into a mug. “I want it in a bowl.” Dean protested. It’d been how he’d eaten most of his liquid meals, from the unsweetened almond milk his brother bought to the semi-revolting mixture of soy sauce and tabasco he diluted in water and affectionately called wonton soup despite never actually christening it with wontons. Something about it reminded him of rainy days with Dad and Sammy in crappy motel rooms, eating Chinese takeout like it was the nectar of the gods. He hadn’t touched the bullion in the fridge often, afraid the protein would make him feel too full, erasing the gnawing in his stomach he’d come to love.

Cas set down the bowl in front of Dean, breaking him from his reverie. “Here.” He placed a small spoon next to it, a long-handled one the men of letters must have used for iced tea. Something about the daintiness of it made the soup feel less intimidating, like the size of the spoon was a measure of his greed, and Dean smiled a silent thanks.

He ate slowly, blowing eat spoonful down to the ideal temperature before swallowing. After a few mouthfuls, he spoke. “This would be a hell of a lot less awkward if I wasn’t the only one eating.”

“Of course.” Castiel replied. “Eating is a social activity, I’d forgotten. I’ll get some toast.” When he sat back down, twice-cooked bread in hand, the hunter was on his eighth spoonful and looking like he was amid a war. “Dean.” He spoke softly, “How can I make this easier for you?”

Dean licked his lips tentatively. “I don’t know.” He replied truthfully. “I just- I don’t want to feel full. I don’t want to stuff myself. Hell, the main reason I haven’t had anything solid in a while is because I haven’t felt like I’ve deserved the luxury of chewing.”

Castiel stood and walked to sit next to Dean, their shoulders touching. “So, you don’t want to eat solid food because you feel like you don’t deserve it, but you don’t want to drink your calories. Having broth with a spoon- that’s easier?”

“I guess?” Dean replied, taking another spoonful. He could smell the sugar and cinnamon Cas topped his toast with, and his stomach growled again. Fuck, he was just so hungry.

“Would you like some toast?” Cas asked.

“I don’t deserve it.” He responded immediately.

Cas shook his head. “That’s not what I asked.” He took a purposeful bite and chewed thoughtfully, then paused. Cas brought a hand up to caress the back of Dean’s head and pulled him forward, meshing their lips together. Using his tongue, he gently pushed the toast into Dean’s mouth before pulling back to observe the hunter’s reaction.

Dean swallowed, too overwhelmed in the sensation of Cas’s lips against his to think about the calories. The sugar was sweet, and the cinnamon reminded him of apple pie. “What am I, a baby penguin?” He asked, but there was no anger in his voice.

“Could that help?” Cas asked softly. “This way, you get food but don’t have to chew or otherwise think about feeding yourself.”

Dean stopped to think. The toast was in his stomach, feeling a bit like a ball, but he didn’t hate himself for it. He could probably eat half a slice and still retain the addicting sensation of emptiness. “Okay.” He agreed. “A few more bites.”

It was slow, Cas being sure to chew until all lumps were gone for fear of Dean choking, but soon they were down to just the crusts of one half of the slice. Dean shook his head, signaling he was done, and Castiel swallowed the final bite. “I’m proud of you.”

Dean almost laughed at that, his head falling forward. “Cas, I just needed to be fed like a baby bird to make it through breakfast.”

Cas frowned, placing his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Most people see their worst fear only in nightmares.” He responded bluntly. “You sat down at this table today and faced yours before even finishing your coffee. If that’s not something to be proud of, I don’t know what is.”

Dean nodded, knowing he wasn’t able to change the angel’s mind. The smell of the remaining toast was sweet, mixing with the underlying tone of coffee. With Cas beside him, he felt warm for the first time in a long while. “C’mon.” He encouraged, pushing himself up. “Let’s go find a way to kill Chuck.”

<hr>

Six hours later, Dean wondered why there were so many rewritings of the bible. Sure, it had some good moments (that fat king dying on the toilet came to his mind), but overall, it was kind of a snooze fest. He’d been digging through Sam’s backlog of bible PDFs for what felt like forever, opening one, hitting CTRL + F, typing _how to kill God_ , getting zero results before starting the process over again, and the boredom and hopelessness was hitting full force. He was on edge, an itch behind his eyes and a shake of his hands he couldn’t blame on low blood sugar for once. “I’m gonna see if Cas has found anything.” He told his brother.

Sam hardly gave a nod as he left. “Okay.”

Dean stood, making his way from the library to the Dean cave, where Cas had holed up with a stack of ancient tomes, claiming the clacking of keyboards was keeping him from fully immersing himself in the texts. “Hey.” He greeted, opening the door.

Cas looked up from where he stood in the corner. “Hello, Dean.” He closed his book and sat down in one of the leather recliners Dean had furnished the place with, gesturing for the hunter to sit in the other one. Rather than do so, Dean sat on the floor next to Cas’s leg, pressing his face into the angel’s knee. Cas brought his hand up to stroke Dean’s hair softly. “Or shall I say, hello, my beloved.”

Dean sighed at the contact, his subspace slipping into his mind slowly, like waves caressing the shore. “I like it when you pet my hair.” He susurrated.

“How lucky.” Cas teased. “Because I adore petting your hair.” He let his fingertips sink deeper, massaging Dean’s scalp, feeling as the tension melted away from them both. There was something so addictive about this dynamic- Dean letting himself surrender, Cas getting to control something no matter how hectic the world seemed, and the angel felt a smile tug at the corners of his lips. “How about a bath, my dear?”

Dean nodded against Cas’ leg. “I’d like that.” 

Cas helped Dean get upright, an the two plodded softly into one of the bathrooms. Dean sat on the closed lid of the toilet, smiling as Cas drew up a bath. “You could have prayed.” Castiel said suddenly, eyes fixated on the tap.

Dean arched an eyebrow. “I did. Did you forget everything that happened yesterday?”

Castiel shook his head. “Before that, Dean. When this-“ He gestured at Dean’s body, the newfound frailness it possessed, a cry for help written in the valley above his collarbone. “-Got bad. I would have come.”

“You left.” Dean barked. “You were pissed, and you left. Sorry for taking that as a do-not-disturb. Not exactly like you were answering your phone.”

“I wasn’t going to answer for Dean-the-jackass.” Castiel sneered, turning off the water with far more force than necessary. The lights flickered for a moment, but they shone brightly once more when Castiel’s hands unfurled from their fists.

“But you would have come for Dean-the-anorexic.”

Castiel sighed, standing from he had knelt to draw the bath. “You make it sound as if I’m attached to your eating disorder, not you.”

“Because that’s what it feels like!” Dean yelled, standing up, ignoring the way his vision swirled. “You weren’t here, and you lamenting it now doesn’t fucking change it!”

Castiel huffed. “It’s not like I had all the information, Dean. How was I supposed to know that me leaving would trigger you?”

“Because I love you, you fucking asshole!” Dean shouted. “Because maybe I assumed you had eyes each time you’ve come back from the dead. Or do you not remember when you came back from purgatory, huh? Because I know I sure as hell do!”

Dean grit his teeth as the memory washed over him.

* * *

It all started on the third day that Dean hadn’t had the energy to get out of bed.

“Dean.” Sam croaked; voice hoarse from crying earlier. “Please, please just eat something.”

“I’m okay.” Dean reassured. He rubbed his head, tension building behind his eyes. “Just feeling a little under the weather.”

“Please, Dean.” Sam urged. “What brought this on? You weren’t doing great when you first got out, but you seemed okay at least. And okay is a hell of a lot better than whatever you are now.” 

“I’m fine, Sammy.” Dean murmured. He reached a hand shakily to the mug of tea Sam had brought with him, sitting next to various untouched food items. Grabbing it with both hands, he burnt his tongue on the first sip, but there was a sickly-sweet undertone to the grassiness of the matcha. It tasted nothing like the metallic, herb-tinged tea Castiel made for him countless time in Purgatory. Frowning, he looked suspiciously into the depths of the mug. “Did you put sugar in this?” He questioned, setting it back down.

Something in his little brother snapped. “You know what? Fuck you.” Sam snarled. “If you’re going to just give up and kill yourself like this, fine. But I am sure as hell not going to sit back and watch.” He stood, shutting off the motel TV that had a muted rerun of an episode of _Dr. Sexy_ dancing across the screen. “I’m going out to buy some shit for dinner, and if you don’t eat it, I’ll syringe that smoothie down your throat.”

Dean closed his eyes to prevent tears from falling, trying to ignore the sound of the door closing.

Sam tapped the wheel of the impala restlessly as he drove decidedly too fast down the highway. He’d seen a café a few miles outside town, and he figured if nothing else, soup would be easy to force Dean to eat. He wasn’t going to lose his brother to something as preventable as starvation. He didn’t pay much attention to the man in the trench coat who was walking in the same direction, but glanced in the rearview mirror to check for black eyes nonetheless. Slamming on the brakes, he practically leapt out of the car. “Cas!” he exclaimed.

…

Dean had been idlily watching the room spin when he heard the door open. _It’s too soon for Sammy to be back._ He thought. _So, whatever it is, it’s probably not human._ He considered pulling the gun out from underneath his pillow, but instead, he closed his eyes.

“So, you’ve come to gank a Winchester.” He spoke to whatever had just entered the motel room. “Shame for you, it’s more of a mercy kill than a fight right now.”

“Dean.”

The deep voice sent shivers down his spine, and he swore he could hear two sets of footsteps walking towards him. “Hey, c’mon Dean.” Sam’s voice said this time, instead of Castiel’s.

Opening his eyes, Dean widened as he saw two figures, rather than just his brother who was in front of him. “Sam?” He whispered, going pale. “I’m hallucinating.”

“What are you seeing?” Castiel commanded, sitting down on the bed. The mattress sunk, as if there actually was another body next to him.

 _I’ve really lost it this time_ Dean thought.

“Dean?” Sam questioned. “C’mon, answer him, what are you seeing?”

 _Aw fuck_ Dean thought. He’d figured Sammy was real, but there was no way Cas was real, so if Sammy could hear him, then that meant Sammy wasn’t real, either, and if even Sammy wasn’t real than-

“Breathe, Dean.” Not-Cas insisted. “You are hyperventilating. Your brain is receiving too much oxygen right now. You need to take a deep breath.”

“Great, just great.” Dean muttered, sitting up carefully and swinging his legs carefully over the edge of the bed. “My fucking hallucinations are babying me.” He grabbed the tea, downing it in one go, before taking a few hasty sips of the smoothie and dragging himself to the bathroom with the wall as a support.

“What are you doing?” Not-Sammy asked. When Dean sat in front of the toilet, facing it, not- Sam seemed upset. “Dean, no! Don’t do that, come back to bed. Everything is okay Dean. We’re real.”

“Let him.” Castiel spoke quietly.

The two kept speaking, but their voiced were drowned by the sound of Dean activating his gag reflex. It was so human, so grounding. A cup of tea wasn’t much to vomit, and as he finished dry heaving, his vision began to blur around the edges, but the figures didn’t. He saw a set of blue eyes looking at him and felt rough hands clasp around his own. “You’re real.” He murmured.

“Yes Dean, I’m real.” Castiel soothed. “Sam and I are both real, and both here. You’re not in purgatory, or hell, or having a hallucination.”

“I thought you were dead.” Dean whispered. The blackness was still filling his vision, and he felt himself slumping down, but the angel wrapped his arms around him. A deep warmth suddenly filled him, and he smiled, realizing the angel had wrapped his wings around him.

“Come now.” Castiel reassured. “Let us get you some rest.”

The Angel smelled of purgatory still, all rotten blood and decaying bodies, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to be upset when Castiel picked him up. When he was laying in bed, Castiel pulled away. “Stay.” He pleaded, grabbing the lapel of Cas’ trench coat. He eyed the angel’s lips, eyes flickering to them, then back at Sam. His brother was staring too intently for him to steal a kiss, so he settled on licking his bile covered lips instead.

Castiel gave a reassuring squeeze of Dean’s arm. “I will not leave. I simply need to gauge your weight loss.” He looked at Sam expectantly. “When was the last time he had anything of sustenance?”

“He ate a few baby carrots yesterday.” Sam replied, sitting on the edge of the other queen bed. “He had some corned beef hash four or five days ago, but not much. Sometime last week he ate half a pie but threw it up right afterwards.”

Castiel moved to remove Sam’s hoodie from Dean’s lithe frame, the hunter pulled away. “I’m fine.” He snapped. When Castiel continued to look at him expectantly, he sighed and took off the hoodie and a flannel, leaving him still in a long-sleeved shirt.

“Jesus, Dean.” Sam exclaimed when his brother removed his final layer. “What the fuck‽”

Castiel sighed. “Oh, Dean.” His fingers grazed the skin of Dean’s jutting ribs, tracing the valleys and peaks softly before resting a hand over his heart. His eyes closed, and Dean felt his skin tingle. Castiel stopped suddenly, pulling away softly.

Dean pulled his shirt down, shivering from the cold. “I’m fine.” He insisted, but he wasn’t even sure he believed it anymore.

“One hundred and twenty-eight pounds.” Castiel announced. “That is how much you weigh Dean.” He scrubbed at his face, wishing suddenly to be clean shaven. “Your heart-“his voice croaked. “The wall of your heart is thinning. I don’t know if I can repair it in my current state.”

Sam was crying now. “Dean, fuck, I-“

“Don’t do it.” Dean warned. “Don’t try to heal me, Cas.”

“Then you have to eat, Dean.” Castiel insisted. “And eat well.”

“I-.” Dean swallowed. “I can try.”

…

Fifteen minutes later, Sam and Cas stood outside the motel room, grim looks on their faces as they tried to figure out how to kill the monster in Dean’s mind. “What are we going to do?” Sam asked.

“He needs something easy to digest.” Castiel instructed. “Protein, for his muscles. Do you have eggs?”

“There’s a diner down the street.” Sam sighed. “But, what if he doesn’t eat, or what if he just throws them up, or has a heart attack or-“

Castiel chewed his lip nervously before cutting Sam off. “Dean’s state is not that critical yet.” He reassured.

“But you said-“Sam stopped when the realization hit him. “Oh.”

“He is thin, and his body has started to consume its own muscles.” Castiel stated. “He is too ill to care about himself, however.”

“But if he thinks he’s one wrong move from endangering you, he’ll cooperate.” Sam sighed.

Castiel smiled tersely. “Why don’t you go get him some scrambled eggs and toast. I’ll watch over him.” 

Castiel entered the motel room, a somber look across his features. He remembered Dean’s words from what felt like a lifetime ago: _When humans want something, really, really bad, we lie._ “I do not belive I smell pleasant.” He stated. “Would you care to join me in the shower?”

Figuring it wasn’t so much an invitation as an order, Dean nodded. “I’ll meet you in there.” He knew it would be difficult to get up, and the least he could do for dignity’s sake was spare Castiel that.

“As you wish.” Castiel replied. He turned the water as hot as it would go, frowning when it managed only a meager 40 degrees Celsius. It was cooler than Dean preferred, but it would have to do. He did in all honesty feel weak, and heating water would be a waste of his grace. He stripped quickly, folding his bloodied clothes neatly on the countertop. He pulled back the shower curtain but stopped as he heard a muttered curse. “Dean?” He asked quickly, stepping out to the man, who was grasping the motel dresser as if it was the only thing holding him up.

“Stubbed my toe.” Dean lied, gritting his teeth at the wave of dizziness.

“You dehydrated yourself vomiting.” Castiel murmured. “Let’s get a quick shower, and then get you rehydrated.” He reached out to touch the man’s bony shoulder, stopping when Dean tensed.

“Don’t teleport me anywhere.” Dean instructed. “I swear man, whatever you do, don’t waste your mojo on me.”

Castiel tugged at Dean’s jaw, capturing his lips softy. “I would use the very last drop of my grace on you and never once consider it a waste.” He murmured as he pulled back. “But I will not do anything against your wishes, so long as you do nothing against mine.”

Dean forgot sometimes just how _other_ Cas is. When they were running in purgatory, fighting every second of everyday, he seemed almost human. Now, as Castiel picked him up bridal style, carrying him like he weighed little more than a feather, he was reminded of the unbridled power that is merely contained behind the façade he knows as Cas. The angel- the warrior of heaven- just placed him gently down on the closed toilet, undressing him gingerly, like the oversized hoodie and sweatpants are the only things holding him together anymore. He wanted to scream at the angel to just leave him alone and let him die in peace, and the other half wanted to binge and purge until he knows that this was finally real, and not another dream about to turn into a nightmare the second he opened his eyes. “Why are you here?” He finally settled on, as Castiel carefully maneuvered him to take off his T shirt.

Castiel pushed down the panic that came with an honest answer. “I don’t know.”

Dean nodded. It was as good of an answer as any. How or why Cas was here didn’t matter to him in this moment, all that matter was that Cas was here. He let himself be as resistant as a marionette doll for the time being, complacently sitting as Cas began to undress him. It was odd, to be with Cas, this intimate without any plans of sex.

He wondered where he would be if Castiel hadn’t shown up. If Dean was honest, the only thing worth living for in this moment with Cas. While he wasn’t quite to the point of putting a gun to his mouth or slit his wrists, he also wasn’t ready to eat just for the purpose of dragging out his miserable existence. The blaze of glory he wanted to go out in beckoned him at night, and now he thought the closest thing to glory he could get was to show his control by dying with as little fat as possible. 

“Get my razor from my bag.” He told his lover softly. “You need to shave.”

Cas smiled, kissing the tip of Dean’s nose carefully. “As you wish.”

Dean smiled. Teaching an angel to shave was going to be a bit of fun.

…

When Sam came home, he was greeted by two things: the overwhelming smell of cheap soap and Castiel’s bare ass.

“Hello Sam.” The angel greeted, turning around to face the younger Winchester as if he wasn’t just casually sauntering around naked.

Sam stared purposely at Cas’ eyes. “I, uh.” He raised the bag in his hand carefully. “Food. I got food.”

“Put some clothes on before you scar the kid, Cas.” Dean quipped from the bed. His hair was wet, and his cheeks, while sunken, had a tinge of pink to them.

The angel complied, walking over to Dean’s duffle bag and digging through it, pulling out clothes seemingly at random. “Modesty is such a peculiar trait.” Castiel mused. “I know why Adam and Eve possessed it, of course, but with evolution I expected it to be bred out.” Stepping into sweatpants, (commando, Sam tried not to notice) and a T- shirt, Castiel looked strangely relaxed.

“I got white Gatorade, eggs, and plain toast.” Sam spoke. “I’m going to do some research on refeeding syndrome and see what vitamins we need to get you on. This should all be easy to digest but let me know if anything upsets your stomach.” He set down two coffees, gesturing to one as he took a muffin out of a paper bag. “One on the left is yours, Cas. Black.”

“Thank you.” Castiel said, coming over and peeling the label off Gatorade before handing it to Dean, sitting on the edge of his bed. He picked up the remote, stopping when he saw Dr. Sexy was on. “Is this the one where the oncology nurse spills chemotherapy while taking a shortcut through the NICU and they have to treat a premature infant for radiation poisoning?”

Dean shook his head. “No, I think this is the one where Dr. Casanova ends up in cardiac arrest, needs a heart transplant, and his wife shoots herself so he can have her heart.”

Castiel hummed noncommittally, and Sam watched with bated breath as the angel brought the food over to his brother. The two sat close, and Sam watched as the angel cut up Dean’s food, rearranging it carefully. Taking note, Sam figured that was so Dean couldn’t gage how much he’d eaten, taking a bit of the pressure off. “Sam, may I ask you a question?”

Sam frowned, puzzled. “yeah, what’s up?”

“For a corn dog to be a corn dog, does it require a stick?”

Dean laughed, and with Castiel back at his side, Sam sighed with relief. Team Free Will was back, and together they could get Dean through this.

* * *

“Of course, I hadn’t forgotten.” Castiel replied. “Do you think I could, Dean? Do you think I’ll ever grow accustomed to watch you slowly kill yourself? Because I surely don’t.” He closed his eyes. “Do you know what I dreamt of when I was human?”

“You had nightmares.” Dean replied meekly, the fury ebbing away.

“I dreamt of you dying.” Castiel stated. “Sometimes it was violent deaths, the kind where your body seemed obscured by the sheer volume of blood surrounding it. Sometimes it was of something happening to Sam, followed by you kneeling at the crossroads. But you know what the worst ones were?” His voice wavered slightly, but he pushed on. “The worst ones were of you starving, of digging your grave while I idly watched, unable to help. Of your corpse upon a marble slab, gaunter than I’d ever seen you, even in Purgatory. I dreamt that I begged you to eat and you wouldn’t. I dreamt that you left my alive with the knowledge that I failed you.”

“Cas.” Dean soothed. “You haven’t failed me.”

“But I have.” The angel insisted. “I look at you now, Dean, and I see the ghost of you. I’m afraid, so _fucking_ afraid, that I am going to lose you to something preventable. That you are going to die a mundane death, premature and entirely unfit for the righteous man I love.” There was moisture on his vessel’s face, and he realized he was crying.

“I ain’t dead yet.” Dean reassured. “But Cas, you have to realize that’s a part of the appeal, right? The idea of dying a monster-less death… That’s appealing.”

“When I was suicidal.” He spoke, voice low. “After the decimation I caused in heaven, you sat with me and listened, because you are a kind, caring person.” He looked Dean in the eyes. “But you also spoke with me because you were scared, just as I am now, of being left alone on this wretched earth without your other half.” 

Dean sighed. “I suppose you’re right.” He began undressing slowly, his eyes on Castiel. There wasn’t lust in them though, just a light Cas hadn’t seen in some time: Dean was determined. “I’m adding something to our to do list.”

“Oh?” Castiel responded.

“Firstly, I am enjoying this bath. And we still need to find a way to kill Chuck.” Dean tossed his boxers off with a flourish and hissed at the heat of the water as he slid into the tub. “But in between those two, I’m eating. I’ve suddenly realized there’s one bigger middle finger to Chuck than killing him.”

“And what would that be?”

“We’re going to find him, kill him,” Dean grinned, “And then you and I will buy a cabin where I’ll die in fifty years’ time of old age.”

“I have a problem with this plan.” Castiel replied, and Dean’s heart sank.

“What?” He queried. 

“I want a cottage, not a cabin. In a meadow, for the bees.”

“No way!” Dean protested. “I want some trees. What if we have a beehive instead?”

Castiel pondered this. “Deal.”

Dean laughed. “You are such a pushover.”

“Well,” Castiel teased, “I agreed to a cabin, but you never said I couldn’t paint the living room neon green.” 

Dean scrunched his nose. “Ew, no.” He had vague memories of Castiel chattering away about the beauty of arsenic green wallpaper. 

“Yellow?”

Dean considered this. “Not in the living room.” He decided. “The kitchen, though.”

Castiel tilted his head. “Any reason why?”

“It will remind me of you.” He responded. “So I’ll know, even on days that I don’t want to eat, that you want me to. Maybe it’ll be enough, someday.”

Castiel smiled. “Maybe it will.”

Dean bathed for an hour before he managed to scarf down a protein shake. They researched together into the night, and the next morning awoke to Castiel in coveralls. “What are you doing?” He asked.

Castiel beamed in reply and moved aside to show Dean a stash of paint rollers. “I’m painting the kitchen yellow.”

Dean bit his lips anxiously. “I don’t-“ He stuttered. “I don’t think painting the kitchen will magically make me eat.”

“Of course not.” Castiel soothed. “You’re ill, Dean. I don’t imagine a fresh coat of paint will fix everything. It’s a start, though. A new beginning.”

Dean smiled and poured himself a cup of coffee, including a splash of cream. “To new beginnings.” He cheered, clinking his mug against Castiel’s.

That morning, instead of counting calories, Dean drank his coffee and counted brushstrokes.

**Author's Note:**

> I have not ever had an eating disorder, but I have struggled with disordered eating from OCD, so this is largely based off my own personal experience. My own mind is not an objective source, so if there are any inaccuracies, feel free to let me know. I tried to end this hopefully, but not unrealistically. Love may not cure all, but the worlds needs some hope right now, especially as deaths of despair increase due to the ongoing pandemic. Take care, everyone! Feel free to ask if you want my Kik so we can privately chat.


End file.
